Oh I had alot to say
Was thinking on my time away
I missed you and things weren't the same
'Cause everything inside it never comes out right
And when I see you cry it makes me wanna die.

On a ship sailing out over the Atlantic Ocean, in a dark, damp corner of the hull, Spike sat. Staring blindly at the wall, he bit his bottom lip, trying not to concentrate. That's when she came. They came. They all came. Their faces melted one into the other. Always changing but always the same. Ghosts of the past. And they came to talk. Always talk. To tell of their expeirences. Their deaths. Their lives. How he affected history. Always the truth though. And he was bad. He was a bad bad man. He'd always known that. He just hadn't care before. But he cared now. But he knew. If he stayed still. Didn't think. He wouldn't see them. They'd leave him alone. But not always.

She came more than others. Her hair shown even in the dark. Her skin stayed a perfect tan. Her eyes sparkled with smiles sometimes but more with pity. When she first appeared, he literally screamed and cried for hours. She had stood there with him while he tried to leave. But he was trapped. She followed him everywhere.

After he'd woke up in the cave, he had stumbled disoriented to the shore. A ship had been docked out at sea and he had silently boarded, climbing up the anchor and jumping in the dockbay. Stealing a jacket, he silently made his way to the cargo hold. No one had given him a second look.

So there he sat. The days passed by and he fed on rats. Trash for the trash. Never ending trash. He felt it burning. The blood was boiling in his viens. In his heart. His head. His skin. The blood of the innocent. The children. The women. The men. Everyone was screaming in pain. Staring at nothing kept it to a dull roar. That was the best he could hope for.

She had come to him this morning. In her death clothes. Sneakers. Charcoal pants. And a white long-sleeved shirt. Her hair floated around her face on an invisible breeze. Her eyes stared at him solemly. The first time had been the worst. She'd had on her sneakers and her robe. Her hair mussed and her eyes liquid pools. Her robe was ripped and she held it together in shaking hands. The robe gaped to where he could see the bruises. He had bruised her. Her legs. Her shoulder. And she had just stared. He had screamed and cried, professing his sorrow. And she had just stared. Then she had turned and walked away.

The people came and went, depending on their moods. But she was always there. With tears in her eyes.

I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue
I'm sorry about all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds
And baby the way you make my world go 'round
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

Every hit. Ever smack. Every damaging thing he'd ever done to her, he'd rewitnessed. Every harse word. She had been forgiving but he didn't deserve it. He'd refused it. He'd retaken every blow. She'd tried to stop him but it didn't work. She couldn't touch him. He was filth. He was beneath her. She had shouted at him to stop but it was a driving force.

He'd hurt the girl. He'd hurt Buffy. He screamed that he was sorry. It didn't help though. She just stared at him and shook her head. What he'd felt when she'd died didn't compare to what he felt now. He violated her. He couldn't say sorry because she didn't accept. She could never accept.

The only reprieve he got was the good memories. Little Bit. His friend. His world centered around those girls. One held his before. The other, his after. Dawn. He missed her so. She'd never take him back now. He was dead to her. Always dead to those he cared about.

He smiled from the good memories though. Buffy's smile. Dawn's smile. Smacking Xander. Flash upon flash of holding Buffy flashed through his head. Kissing. Holding. Touching. Being in her arms. Watching TV with Dawn. Smacking Xander. He'd never see it again. Sorry didn't fix it.

This time I think I'm to blame
It's harder to get through the days
We get older and blame turns to shame
'Cause everything inside it never comes out right
And when I see you cry it makes me wanna die.

It was burning him. The soul. The cursed, corrupt, dirty soul. It was burning through him. He couldn't claw it out, he'd tried. It made him relive the past one hundred and twenty years. Every hunt. Every kill. Every debauchery. He could see Buffy crying in every one. She was always there. He could only stand there and take his punishment. Buffy's hate. Her cries. Her blood pouring from head. Her lip. Her sneering lip. Her trembling lip. Her trembling body. He'd made her tremble last. And scream. And cry. She'd hated him. He hated himself. He wanted to hide himself away. She shouldn't see him. Couldn't see him. She may have been hurting but he did worse. He'd made her cry.

Every single day I think about how we came all this way
The sleepless nights and the tears you cried
It's never too late to make it right
Oh yeah sorry

"Who are you?" Buffy looked around uncertain.

"You'll find out Saturday," he promised.

"What happens Saturday?"

"You die."

Spike glared at her. "What exactly did the git say to get between your dimpled knees? Did ya hurt him?"

"You'll never be friends. You'll love and you'll hate. But you'll never be friends. I may be loves' bitch but at least I'm man enough to admit it."

"Slayer there's something you need to see. I-Are you naked under there?"

"Out. For. A. Walk...Bitch."

He smiled as the memories flashed through his mind. He wished Willow's spell had never broken. And he wished Buffy had staked him that first night. All the effort to hate her had been for naught. Buffy was in his soul. More than Dru. More than his blessed Mother. Buffy shone brightest.

He jerked as Buffy walked out of the darkness. "Feeling better Spike?"

Spike chuckled and laughed till he started crying again. "Away. Get away. Lights too bright. It burns. You're hurt. Covered in hurt." His hand shook as it reached towards her. Before it touched her, he jerked it back and clutched himself. "No. NO! Sullied. Evil. Can't touch light. It burns."

"Spike..." Buffy kneeled down in front of him. "It's okay."

Jumping up, he rushed away from her. Clutching the wall, he banged his head against it. "It hurts. You hurt. I hurt you."

Gliding towards him, she stopped an arms length away. "Spike I'm fine." Reaching a hand towards him, she frowned as he scuttled away.

He chuckled madly. "Don't understand. No one understands. It's not fine. Never fine. Always hurt the one you love. Never hurt anyone mum said. Never hurt women. Never hurt a lady. I hurt you Buffy. I deserve to burn. Burn for eternity. A soul is a soul. Mine's rusted. Hollow. No good. Need a new one."

She watched as he shuffled off into a corner. Approaching softly, she knelt. "We can work through this. We can make it better."

"Stop bleedin' time why don't ya? Make it spin and spin till it falls back. Erase the pain and the hurt. Erase death. Take me instead. Give her back the light." He shuddered as he watched her fall again. Tumbling over and over. Too weak to catch her. Couldn't stand. Couldn't move. Watched her fall over and over again.

Buffy knelt in front of him and smiled softly. "We'll fix it when you get home. We'll make it right. Like it was before. You'll never have to hurt again. I'll take of you."

Spike stared off into space and stopped looking. He stopped moving. He stopped everything. If he didn't move. Didn't talk, she'd disappear. Leave him in the dark. That's where he belonged.

Frowning, Buffy stood and folded her arms. Glaring down at him she shook her head. "When you've returned, everything will be fixed. You'll be at peace." Turning stiffly, she walked away into the darkness.

Spike slowly shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Never right again. Hurt the girl. Can never say sorry." Swallowing audibly, he closed his eyes.

Sorry didn't fix.